Water, or This is What Happens When It’s 8 Days to MEEHU and I Kind of Fancy Having an Interrogation Scene

This is something a little different, you can maybe almost even safely read it at work.  (Yes indeed, that means no obvious smut.)

Debrief Transcript (Trance Aided), Agent 12, RE: events of 10^th July 2015

               I approach the door to my hotel room and something’s off, something’s wrong, but I’m not sure what.  I examine the hallway, the light fixtures, the doorjamb – and there it is, the thing that tipped me off.  I always scatter salt under the door, it catches in the ridges of the jamb and is nearly impossible to clean up completely. Opening the door changes the pattern, and I am dead certain that someone has been in my room, and is probably still there.  I wasn’t having any fun at this convention anyhow, it’s time to blow.

               I find my partner, Agent 5, milling about with the real writers in line for the hotel-catered lunch.  I catch his eye and give him a thumbs up, which is our prearranged signal for “we’re blown, rendezvous later” and head for my personal escape route. Through the maze of rooms allotted to the Romance Writers of America Conference, (we’ve built our covers as two moderately successful authors over several years, 5 even writes his own material), down the freight elevator, out through the kitchens.  It’s just outside the lift that they catch me, clubbing me on the back of the head.  I go down hard, my body just quits on me, and I think ‘at least I warned…’

               “Fitzroy, is it? Nice alias.” are the first words I hear when I come to. Damn.  They’ve nabbed 5 as well.  I can’t see him, but I can hear someone needling him, doing obvious pre-interrogation patter, and I know it’s only a matter of time before it’s my turn.  Time to see what I have to work with.  There’s not much.  I’m tied to one of those rolling office chairs, wrists to the arm rests, legs to the pedestal, you know the drill.  I’m in what looks like a room within the Con hotel, double beds, over-size flatscreen, mini-fridge, those ridiculous lamps that attach to the wall next to the beds, you know, the ones you can never find the switch for?  There’s something weird about these lamps though. They’re putting out perfectly round halos of light, halos that seem to spin around the room on a line of light, entering my vision from the right and exiting on the left.  It’s almost impossible not to try and track them as they move, and it’s when I try to turn my head to follow them that I realize my head is being held in place somehow.  It’s a variation on the old ‘shine a light in their eyes’ trick, but I am confident that I can withstand it.  

               It’s almost a relief though when one of my captors comes in to view, blocking the lights.  Because of the glare, I can’t get more than just a sense of him – tall, powerful, probably over-confident because he’s looming over me and I’m tied to a chair.  When he starts to speak, his voice is mild, almost gentle, and barely audible.  

               “You’re going to have to speak up if you want this to work,” I taunt, and he slaps me.  Really puts his shoulder behind it, and it’s when my head bounces off the back of Agent 5’s that I realize that we are tied back to back.  Someone is talking to him as well, but he has the sense to learn from my mistake and keeps quiet.

               “You don’t get to speak,” says the tall man.  “You get to sit there and listen while my friend milks Agent 5 for everything he knows.”

               “Really? Are you going to hit me every time I make a noise then?” I ask.  He answers me with a feint towards a backhand, but stops before he does anything but barely contact my skin.  

               “No, Agent 12, I think in your case we’ll have to try something different.”  He fusses with something outside of my range of vision, when he turns he’s got a hypodermic in his hand.  ‘Great’ I think.  ‘Drugs. I can deal with drugs.’  I don’t struggle when he injects me, which seems to surprise him, but that’s because he doesn’t know about the new anti-interrogation techniques that the Agency has perfected.  I’m proof against any chemical he wants to use to try and make me talk.

               I can feel it though.  In training I practiced this, how to ride the wave of relaxation and lethargy that trickles over me.  Of course, once the drug became part of the scenario my plan of attack changes. It’s no longer ‘escape as soon as possible’, it’s going to be quite some time before my reactions and reflexes will be back up to par.   Now it’s ‘withstand their interrogation’.  The tall man starts to talk again, I have to really concentrate to hear him.

               “You are going to be quiet Agent 12, as quiet as Agent 5 is talkative, until we find out what we need to know.”

               “I’m really not, you know.” I answer. You can’t tell from my voice that the drug is affecting me.  Maybe my breathing has slowed down a little bit, but not enough to betray me.  The tall man laughs at me.  Laughs in my face.

               “You’re not what?  Not going to be quiet?”  He steps to the side and the lights are back in my eyes again.  I notice that they take exactly the same amount of time to revolve around me as it takes to take one breath.  In and they are on my right, out and they are on my right.  

               “No,’ I say.  “I’m not really a quiet sort of person.”  And if I’m talking then 5 can be silent.  The tall man’s friend is still muttering behind me.  I can’t quite make it out, but I think 5 is getting the same speech that I am.  Don’t talk, listen while your partner talks.  I feel the drug slowing me down, making my body feel like it’s in slow motion. The tall man’s friend is talking about how easy it is be silent and rest, about how hard it is to speak when your muscles are so heavy and tired from the drug, how easy it would be to just rest and let me do all the talking.

               “Let me do all the talking” I say to 5.  I think he says it to me at the same time.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in. “Don’t speak” I say to 5.  The tall man grabs me by the hair, a good strong grip, and wrenches my head around. “Don’t speak” he says to me.  I can barely feel the pain from the hair pull. The drug they gave me has made everything slow and heavy and I feel like I am buried under a mile of cotton. Nothing he does will hurt me.  I am safe from pain in this cocoon.  It’s just like we were taught at the Agency. Use their tools against them.

               They are circling us, the tall man and his partner, talking at the same time, sometimes alternating with each other, but always talking in that quiet voice that I can barely hear.  It is so frustrating not to be able to hear clearly.

               “You really have to concentrate to hear clearly” says the tall man.  For a second, I forget that I need to talk to keep 5 from talking, but I remember just in time.  “I really have to concentrate to hear clearly” I say to the tall man.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in.  The tall man’s accomplice tells 5 “You must speak so that your partner won’t talk.”  Oh no! Before 5 can answer I say “I must speak so that my partner won’t talk.”  I really have to concentrate to hear clearly, the voices are so indistinct, hard to pin down where they are coming from or what they are saying.  I notice that the lights are slowing down.  I breathe in and they are to my right, I breathe out and they are to my right.  I can’t forget to keep talking, I must speak so that my partner won’t talk.

               “I must speak so that my partner won’t talk” I say to the tall man as he and his accomplice continue to circle me.  They circle me like the lights circle me.  I breathe in and they are on my right, I breathe out and they are on my right.

               “I think he’s just about ready” says the tall man, referring to 5.  His partner looks at me and says “She is too, let’s turn them.”  My body is so heavy it’s like it’s become part of the chair.  The world spins on me and I can’t stop it, it keeps going and going and I’ve forgotten something that I’m supposed to do, something important.  I finally realize that I can’t be spinning, because the lights are still circling me, and now I am facing Agent 5.  He looks confused and dazed, like he’s forgotten something.  We’ve both forgotten something.

               “Did you forget already?” teases the tall man. “You have to speak so your partner won’t talk.”  

               “Did you forget already?” taunts the tall man’s accomplice.  “You have to speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               I am staring at 5 and he is staring at me.  We are locked eye to eye, I can see the reflection of the lights there as they go around and around.  They are getting even slower.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in.  The lights are on my right and I breathe out.  I notice that 5 is breathing at the same time that I do.  I watch the lights reflected in his eyes. The lights are on his left and he breathes in.  The lights are on his left and he breathes out.

               “Agent 12, I have some questions for you” says the tall man.  His accomplice tells 5 “You must speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” I say before 5 can answer.

               “Agent 5, I have some questions for you” says the tall man’s accomplice.  The tall man tells me “You must speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” 5 says before I can answer.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” We say together.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” We breathe together.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.”  We chant together.

               My body is a weight pulling me down.  The lights circle me and I can’t stop staring at them. Across from me, 5 slumps in his chair, but I can tell that he is staring at the lights too.  It’s hard to think.  I have to speak so my partner won’t talk, but I don’t know what to say.

               “You don’t have to think” says the tall man.

               “You don’t have to think” says his accomplice.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” we explain to them.  

               “You don’t have to think.” they say.  “All you have to do is respond.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” we plead.

               “We will think for you.” they say.

               “You can speak without thinking.” says the tall man.

               “You can speak without thinking, so your partner won’t talk.” says his accomplice.

               “I can speak without thinking, so my partner won’t talk.” We say.

               “Our words are your words.” They say.

               “Your words are my words.”

               “You can speaking without thinking, our words are your words.”

               “I can speak without thinking, your words are my words.”

               We speak together.  We breathe together.  The lights circle us.  They are on my right and we breathe in.  They are on my left and we breathe in.  We speak, so the other won’t talk.  We can speak without thinking.

               -transcript ends-

               “Well, that was certainly interesting.” said the Deputy Director.  He flipped a switch and turned off the monitor.  “I guess you were right about hypnosis being the wrong way to go with interrogation resistance.”  He stretched to his full height, joints popping as he did so.  “If it was that easy for us to break them, think of the damage our enemies could do.  They could have all our secrets in an afternoon. I’m glad you came to me with this. I’ll make sure that your higher ups in Research know how instrumental you were in this discovery.”

               “It was very interesting the way they reacted, wasn’t it?” asked the research tech. “Of course I have worked very hard in the process of teaching them how to withstand interrogation to prepare them for the moment when they are completely open and can be programmed to do anything I need.” She smiled at the Deputy Director. “By the way,“ she said, grabbing a bottled water from the mini-fridge, “It’s time to relax for me, relax right there where you are standing, perfectly comfortable and perfectly content to listen to my words.”  She popped the water open and drained it.  “This is thirsty work!  Now let’s you and I plan the best way for me to continue to infiltrate your organization.

Darcy At The Dealership

At least I got some writing done while they were working on my car today!
This post contains sexual themes not suitable for children et cetera et cetera ad nauseum.
Also, if you enjoy what you read, please consider helping me solve some of my car problems by contributing here.  Thanks!

Darcy In The Shower (Because I promised you smut)

The following is for mature audiences only, and contains sexual scenes and contexts that might be offensive to some.  You have been warned!

The Defining Experience of My Adult Life (Real Life Feelings, No Smut.)

 December is such a hard, hard month for me, and mostly I keep it to myself.  I suffer more because if it, but I haven't had too many people in my life with whom I truly felt comfortable being honest about how I feel.  Things that I say that from my point of view are little cries for help seldom translate that way in other ears.  I have always longed for someone who would notice that I was hurting and needed a shoulder to cry on without me having to ask (which feels like weakness) but I have never felt comfortable getting close enough to anyone for them to develop that kind of awareness of me.

So I write.  For the impersonal, faceless strangers of the internet, who checked out this blog for the smut and maybe stuck around when it turned into something more personal.  I write because expressing how I feel really does help, and I post because, recklessly, I get as much out of no one responding as I do from anyone responding, just in a different way.  A lot of the way that I feel right now is due to me being very, very tired after a long work week.  A lot of the way that I feel right now is due to me being very, very tired of isolation but not being totally certain of how to change that.  The second wouldn't bother me so much if not for the first.  And I foolishly read something from when I first started learning about hypnosis that has reminded me of how positive and optimistic I was at that time, before I learned just how easy it was going to be for me to get hurt "playing" with trance.

So.  December.  The month in which my Grandfathers died.  The month in which I fell in love with my husband.  The month in which I first knew in my bones that I was going to be alone forever.  The month when I lost a baby, not realizing that I would never get a chance to have one again.  I have been fired from jobs, given last chances, and humiliated personally, all in December.  I have had the best moments of my life, found new communities, and fully experienced erotic hypnosis for the first time in December.  The up-and-down of it all makes it worse, somehow.  But every year I march on through, because January is always so much better.  But this year is a little different.

January 1st, 2015 will be the 10 year anniversary of my husband's death from a nasty and rare form of brain cancer.  As we were lousy at being married we had been separated for several years by then, but we were still best friends.  December 23rd, 2014 will be the 10th anniversary of the last day I saw him alive, when my Mom and I made the 300 mile trek to where he was being cared for to give him Christmas presents and check in with him.  I didn't know how close he was to death at that time.  I wish I could say that if I had known I would have found a way to stay there and be with him, but the truth is I was terrified every time I saw or spoke with him that that time would be the one in which I finally broke and ran away.  I lived in a different city and had work and a thousand good reasons for why I couldn't drop everything and take care of him, but the strongest of all was that I was too scared to do it.  I have never gotten over feeling guilty about it.  I have never stopped hating myself for being that weak.  Most of the year I remember that I did the best that I could and that I shouldn't judge myself in this way, but in December, especially this December, I can't hold those feelings back.  And it will all be over in two weeks and I can go back to being someone who doesn't really talk about her past.  I can go back to being someone who, when she does talk about it, does so in an almost flippant way so that no one will know just how much I still feel it.

People have often asked me what it is I like most about being hypnotized.  What I like most is this:  when I am deeply entranced my sense and understanding of the past and the future is eradicated, and I am just existing now.  I can't be hurt by what has come before in the now.  I have no fear of what may come later in the now.  I just am.  And I am trusting someone else to have the power to control the now, which leaves me free to completely let go of everything and just exist.  That is why me trancing myself, while entertaining and useful, is ultimately just me passing time until a hypnotist comes along.  I don't want to be in charge of it.  I want to give myself to it.  And it's why, when someone abuses my trust, I am so very very upset.

I went back and read the logs from some of my earliest text-trance experiences.  Back when I was shiny and new and optimistic and had no reason to think that finding someone I could trust would be difficult.  I had had a few negative experiences, but not heart-breaking emotional ones.  The person who would become the heart-breaker was just getting to know me and those are the logs that I read.  I don't remember half of what I am reading ever happening, I don't know if it's because of how long it's been or if I never remembered them.  And what I discovered is that everything he did to me in the end were things that he had already done to a previous subject.  He basically told me the story of how he got in too deep and cut her loose, and I never saw that it was a warning to me of what might happen.  I never thought it would happen to me, and when it did it took me over a year to really recover from it.  Over a year to trust new people enough to give them a chance at messing with my mind.  I am slow to recover from emotional things.

So a double whammy today of reminiscence and nostalgia.  Wanting to talk about it but having no one to talk to has at least resulted in a blog post, so that's something.  For next time, I promise I will write some actual smut to make it up to you all.

Ambushes: Part Two

I am meant to be sleeping, but instead I am writing.  It's a fair trade.

I received a comment on my previous post about being ambushed that made me think happy thoughts and so I thought I would expound upon that topic before bed tonight.

The aforementioned post, which can be found here, (go read it if you want), was written after a particularly frustrating day of everyone I interacted with refusing to accept it when I said no to something.  I was cranky fucking mad, which fact I think was clear to all readers.  There is one mostly non-angry paragraph, however, and that is the one wherein I point out that people who are allowed to ambush me may do so.  Pretty much whenever the whim strikes them.

So, I will expound (starting with the comment that I left in answer to the commenter mentioned above.)

"There is nothing I can think of at the moment hotter than having someone whom I trust take me under, forcefully and commandingly, in such a way that I don't even notice the transition. Like a light switch (because you can flip those things on and off as much as you like.)"  Here is an example:

So I'm chatting with someone who has me figured out really well.  Trust has been built, consent has been given, all it really takes is a little push to take me down, and most of the time when I fall, it's like I'm a weighted fishing lure, spinning through the sea as the lead drags me ever downward.  And this is fun.  This is enjoyable.  This is a great starting place for knocking on the door to my mind and having interesting conversations with whatever happens to be home.  It is one of my favorite sensations, but it is not, technically speaking, what I would describe as "hot."  

Hot is when you're having a conversation about nothing in particular and out of the blue he says "Down. Now." And I go from breathing air to the bottom of the ocean before the sound of his voice has had time to fade.  My mind flip-flops, my body is crushed under the pressure of all that water, and I'm so turned on that I will do practically anything to have my body fucked the way my mind has been.

Hot is when you are listing out all the places you would go if you won the lottery and in between saying "I could go to Prague" and "I could go to any museum I wanted" he says "You could go to sleep." 

Hot is having your control over your body taken completely away, while your mind is busy trying to count.
  
Hot is being brought back up, but still having no control over my hands while they pinch my nipples and rub my clit until I helplessly cum.

Hot is talking with him afterwards and realizing that the hand that I haven't bothered to move yet is  feeling my heart beat from the inside.


So, yes, sometimes being ambushed is a very very good thing. 

...singing a good harmony with someone can be as good as sex...

Some ideas are bad and some ideas are very bad; some ideas are so bad they're good, just ask anyone who's seen Point Break if that's not true.  My bad idea that seems good for today is to write a blog whilst in trance, a trance of my own making, (which, really, isn't that different from normal writing), but comes with certain parameters that I normally follow lifted.  For instance, although I have written previously about how people do not get to randomly ambush me, I don't think I've ever come out and admitted that (for people who I have accepted) being ambushed is one of my biggest turn-ons ever.  And, while I've talked about what personality types in a hypnotist annoy the shit out of me, I've never gotten into the types that I really, really dig.  Because the more I expose about myself the more vulnerable I am, right?  But that's the point today, being vulnerable.  I know people who won't write (or act or sing or dance or pretty much create anything) because they think it will expose too much of themselves to strangers.  And they are correct, but it is exposure from a place of anonymity (as any comment troll can tell you), and is massively liberating once you get into the habit of doing it.

So--
This happened today.  I wussed out of going to a funeral for someone with whom I was a friendly acquaintance but not really a friend.  I intended to go.  I got my shift at work covered, I had my outfit planned, I had the directions written out.  Then I started thinking about how I was going to have to look at the body of someone who in my mind is still alive.  I haven't figured out yet how he can actually be dead.  It makes no sense to me.  And the more I thought about the body, the more I didn't want to go, and finally I admitted that I was a chicken-shit and stayed home.  I worry as I write this that most people will be horrified, and that people who thought they were getting to know me will think less of me for my cowardice.  It matters to me what people think, but if I had to choose right now if I were going or not I still wouldn't.  I can't reconcile in my mind the idea that looking at a man's shell makes the situation better.

And I started thinking that here, on the internet, that is all we are really doing, is looking at someone's shell.  And not even the best angle of it, because all the really important stuff is on the inside, floating intangibly out of sight, and my perception of it is never going to be the same as the perception of the person to whom it belongs.  Maybe that, in its simplest essence, is the real attraction of hypnotism as a fetish.  We're cracking the shell, and even though the substance we find inside will always be murky and obfuscated it still feels real and meaningful.  When my shell is cracked, and I feel the secret parts of myself sniffed at and prodded, it feels like I am being really seen and understood.

Well, this all started off fairly light and got weirdly deep quickly didn't it?  But really, I'm still on point.  The idea here is to reveal my vulnerabilities.  And shell-cracking is a big one.

I also like voices.  People who have talked movies with me know that I would rather watch a mediocre movie with a killer soundtrack rather than a fantastic movie with a crappy one.  Same thing for hypnotists.  Vocal quality is super important, although an annoying voice can hypnotize me just as effectively as a fabulous one.  For perspective, (using actors for familiarity), if David Tennant were to show up and want to entrance me I'd be all over that--but if Tom Baker showed up at the same time Tennant wouldn't even exist.  If Gillian Anderson came to my door I'd be thrilled to be enthralled, but if Gemma Arterton was standing next to her...actually that's a bad example because what would kick ass is if Gillian Anderson and Gemma Arterton wanted to do a dual induction on me.  But you get the idea.  Some voices, you don't even hear the words because you are too busy feeling the resonance in your bones.  And other parts.

(It's also why singing a good harmony with someone can be as good as sex.  No.  REALLY.)

And none of this gets into the true beauty of well written words.  Maybe next time.  For now, this is enough.

Lots of Words that Start with "P"

I don't know why I haven't written anything public for so long.  It's been almost exactly 8 months (+/- 5 days) and the best explanation I can come up with is simply that I haven't felt comfortable enough with where I am in my life to expose any part of myself.  That is, after all, what writing is; a deliberate exposure of how I think and feel, dressed up in clauses and obfuscatory adjectives, so that maybe the style of the thing will hide the soul of it.  Or something like that.
Or it could be that I haven't had much to write about.  I moved, I adjusted to a new commute, I tried to adjust to a new level of adulthood, or at least a new perception on my part of what adulthood should be.
There is a small chance that I was too lazy to do it.  That would be the easier explanation.  The most likely explanation is that I have been too enervated by whatever mental process I have undertaken over this past year to kick my own metaphorical ass into some resemblance of responsibility to bother to blog.

Thus endeth the rambling excuses, now onwards to more important things, namely stuff relating to hypnosis.

When last I blogged, I had just come back from WEEHU.  Since that time I have missed both a NEEHU and a MEEHU, and have little hope of getting to attend this year's WEEHU, although hope does spring eternal.  I have worked with only one person on a fairly regular basis in that time (although not as much as I would have liked, but I'm greedy I suppose) but I am back out there now, feeling brave and fairly exploratory and hopefully meeting new people and making new friends.  As I recall, at one point I had published a nice little list of all the topics that I intended to cover--I'm not going to bother to go read it now, I'm just going to hope that what I want to talk about is actually on it.  If not, well, it should have been!

(Extra invisible bonus points of you've read this far!  That first part was really self-indulgent but I'm leaving it in anyway and you can't make me change it, neener neener etc.)

My subject today is "Hypnotists", specifically, the kinds with whom I have found I do not enjoy working.  Some of this is personal taste, some of it is not.  Some examples of behavior might seem familiar to certain people, although I haven't included anything really specific.

Type 1:  The Puppy
Young or immature person who is just SO ENTHUSIASTIC that they never bothers to slow down and listen to the feedback they are getting.  The Puppy often has one habit that is very off-putting, but can be forgiven most of the time because they are young and just don't know any better.  Eventually, however, they need to have the coin box shaken at them or they are never going to learn, and just speaking to them calmly has no effect.  Neither does ignoring them.

Type 2:  The Pedant
This person has found one way to do things, and by golly it works, so why ever change?  If someone liked it the first time, they should like it just as much the four hundred and first time, right?  And they are so proud of the fact that they never deviate from their set path that they make sure to point out to you that they always do things the same way.

Type 3:  The Player
This person has so many irons in the fire that sometimes they just can't keep track of everyone.  Darn!  Did I forget to come back to you and leave you listening to a file on repeat for hours?  Did I leave you in trance to check in on someone else and just never come back?  Well I'm just so very busy, and I'm sure you're okay with it, since I'm so wonderful!

Type 4:  The Performer
Writes files.  Records Files.  Lots and lots of files.  And needs you to listen to and critique every single blessed one.  And has absolutely no hidden agenda, no sir, not them!

Type 5:  The Preacher
Assumes that you want to hear his/her way of doing things.  All the things.  Assumes that you will then adopt his/her way of doing things.  All the things.  Maybe, if you're really lucky, stops talking about their opinions long enough try working with you.

Type 6:  The Predator
The name says it all, really.  These are the ones we get warned about, the ones who are known for their sneaky triggers and non-consensual brainwashing.  The ones who, when you say stop, keep coming back until you have to block them completely to prevent them from messaging you.

Type 7:   The Pretend Therapist
Like The Puppy, The Pretend Therapist means well and has your best interests in mind, really.  It's just that they are so used to seeing a certain kind of situation that they accidentally create it themselves through their own actions.  They are the self-fulfilling prophecy in action.


Now of course these descriptions could be about anyone, not just hypnotists...which is why I probably wouldn't want to hang out with these people under any circumstances, but I definitely do not want to be hypnotized by them.

I have also met many admirable and fun hypnotists, and someday I will come up with clever labels for them as well, but not today.  Maybe tomorrow.  We'll see.